


Isn't it Obvious?

by NathanielCardeu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NathanielCardeu/pseuds/NathanielCardeu
Summary: Hermione just wanted to be left alone this Christmas, but someone else has other ideas about what she needs…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laurielove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurielove/gifts).



> Originally written for a Granger Enchanted Secret Santa Christmas challenge, now updated for Hermione's Haven Bingo 2019.

Hermione shifted her trusty, beaded bag so that it sat more securely on her shoulder and looked back up the hard packed, frozen dirt of the narrow country lane. Trees encroached overhead but were no impediment to the weak, winter sunlight. Their branches were skeletal fingers reaching for the heavens, the leaves having long since dropped. It appeared to be the perfect winter postcard; the long path stretching into the distance with the trees lining the sides all the way. Beyond the trees lay fields, bare and empty earth with a dusting of frost. It was beautiful, in a stark and frozen way.

If the numbing cold finally broke and allowed the rains to come, however, then this whole pathway would become a bog. It wouldn’t be quite so beautiful, then. The way this month was going, Hermione fully expected it to happen too!

Her breath misted before her eyes in the cold, winter air, as she turned to gaze upon her destination. She smiled inwardly as she saw the rundown and boarded up cottage that she was going to stay in for the Christmas period.

To say that the small, two storey building was dilapidated would be an understatement. The roof had large holes in it, the old thatch having rotted away in places due to the merciless passage of time, and the local birds borrowing bits for their nests. The door was still intact, though appeared to be completely rotted; it looked like a stray breeze would bring it down. All the windows on the ground floor were boarded up, the boards themselves showing signs of decay. The upper windows were all broken; jagged mouths of darkness gazing out at her. Pigeons cooed from inside and there was no doubt that the interior of the building would show the evidence of their habitation.

The front garden was in a terrible state, large weeds choking what used to be the borders of a modest lawn that had been allowed to run riot. A profusion of dandelions and other weeds clogged large areas of the lawn, giving it even more of an abandoned, unloved feel.

The gate she stood next to hung crookedly on its one remaining hinge. The other had rusted through, almost disintegrating under the weight. The gate had originally been a shade of red, but this was only barely visible in the spare flakes of paint that still clung tenaciously to the swollen and rotted wood. Flanking the gate, on the inside, were the corpses of two large bushes; they were little more than bare sticks, with only a few leaves remaining.

Hermione viewed all this with no hint of disappointment in the cottage’s condition. Instead, she stepped forward, casting furtive glances left and right. She knew there were no other souls for a good couple of miles in any direction, but it never hurt to be sure though. Taking her wand from within her sleeve, she tapped the remains of the gate smartly, wincing slightly as the barrier snapped and fell apart under the impact. Giving herself a shake to concentrate her thoughts, she flicked her wand towards the cottage. “ _Specialis Revelio Hermione_ ,” she said, holding her hands out and feeling the magic shift within her. A warm glow, one that always suffused her when using magic, flowed through her as her wand-tip glowed a bright blue. There was a faint rushing sound as the cottage adjusted itself, recognising her as someone who could pass through the various protective and Muggle repelling charms.

The gate lifted off of the ground and, once more intact, reattached itself, the hinges gleaming brass; it almost glowed, the paintwork a smooth and unblemished scarlet. With a delicate shiver, the two bushes on either side of the gate sprouted leaves once more, buds growing rapidly and opening; dark red roses by the dozen filled each bush, and the air was filled with their scent. The cracked and uneven stones that made up the path were revealed as the lawn receded. With a grinding sound, the stone slabs reset themselves and settled in their bedding, even and whole again. The lawn tidied itself, weeds disappearing into the grass as if dragged downwards. Soon the delicate stripes of a well cared for lawn greeted her eyes and she felt her gaze being pulled to the cottage itself.

While she had been caught up in the magic of the garden she had missed a large amount of magical renovation. The roof was now perfect, red slate instead of decaying thatch. The windows were whole once more and gleamed in the sunlight, their frames the same rich, red of the gate. The walls were a shining white, the look of a property very recently decorated. She looked to the front door, smiling as she watched it almost twist and shiver under the magic’s influence. Now straight and strong planks, painted to match the window frames, formed the door. A gleaming brass door knob sat in the centre.

Wooden trellises, previously buried in the mess, leapt up and attached themselves either side of the door. A smaller trellis sprang above the door, joining them into a single archway. Strong, vibrant green shoots burst through the ground and began to climb and twist their way up the wooden structure. Soon the arch bore a healthy, climbing rose bush, its limbs laden with large, white flowers. It gave the door a bright, beautiful outline in the pale winter sunshine.

There was a tiny sound, like a miniature dinner bell being rung, as the cottage finished its transformation. Hermione gave a sigh of happiness as she gazed at the finished building. It was perfect; small, idyllic and, most importantly, isolated. The nearest village in this part of Scotland was a few miles away. It was the perfect place for her to spend Christmas, by herself, without the hassle of… other people. She felt a twinge of sadness as she thought of the people she wouldn’t see this Christmas. Then her mind turned to a certain red-haired duo and the conversation she had overheard and she felt her anger at all of them return.

So, talking about her like that, were they? She was better off without them and their foolish, immature and, above all, wrong opinions. Especially HIS! How dare he!? Feeling her blood begin to boil, Hermione drew several calming breaths, pushing thoughts of everyone else out of her head with each breath.

Checking that her bag was still on her shoulder Hermione stepped forward. The gate swung open before her and she gave a delighted laugh as the two rose bushes bowed, almost as if welcoming her home. Her boot heels clicked smartly across the paving slabs, a fresh breeze plucking at her cloak, eliciting a slight shiver as it slipped between the layers of her clothing.

Reaching the door she slipped a key into the stout lock. With a click that echoed in the still air, the bright red door swung inwards.

The large windows on either side of the door let in plenty of light, illuminating the simple but elegant sitting room. Two steps led down from the front door and into an area of soft, comfortable looking sofas that faced a large fireplace on the right hand wall. The walls were pale, creamy stone, laced with dark wood beams. On the left wall, an open doorway that led through to the rest of the floor.

On the far wall of the sitting room hung many pictures of wizards and witches, engaged in various activities. Some of them were simply sat in their chairs, asleep. Others were looking at the door in interest, trying to see who was coming in to the cottage. Surprisingly, Hermione noticed some pictures that were not moving and seemed to be, quite simply, pictures. It was unusual in a Wizarding home.

The cottage exuded a feeling of comfort that wrapped itself, blanket-like, around her shoulders. Some of the witches and wizards in the paintings nodded in greeting, once they could see her face, and then turned back to their own activities. The occupant of one painting--a young boy, peering over a fence next to a hedge--continued to watch Hermione as she moved into the next area.

This was a simple dining area, a large oak table and six chairs dominating the room. Little shelves, filled with knick-knacks decorated the walls and window sills. On the far side of the room from the entryway, against the wall, were the stairs leading to the upper storey. They were dark wood like the beams that formed the inner structure of the property. On the right hand wall were two swinging doors, like something from a cowboy story. Hermione could see the kitchen beyond and moved eagerly through to it.

It was large but, strangely, compact and homely. To the left was a well stocked larder with the sink units on the far wall, under a large window that looked out onto a beautiful little garden. The door was to the right of the units. A final door on the right wall was standing open. Peering through, Hermione felt her jaw drop open.

She walked, as if in a daze, into the next room and dropped into one of the two large, overstuffed, leather armchairs. Every wall was covered in shelves. Every shelf was filled to bursting with books. Hundreds of books. Hermione felt tears in her eyes as she stared up at all the knowledge, packed into this one, small space.

“This is where I’m coming when I die,” she murmured to herself.

“Yeah, but that ain’t ‘appenin’ for a while yet, is it, toots?” said a young voice.

Hermione leapt out of her chair in shock, her heart pounding. Her wand was in her hand and she stared around looking for the source of the voice.

“Over ‘ere,” called the voice, “behind the chair.”

Hermione peered around the other chair in the room and came face to painting with a boy. It was the boy that had been peering over the hedge in the sitting room; his picture appeared to be double sided.

“Hullo!” he said jovially, leaning against his picture frame. “Name’s Doug. Would shake, but kinda difficult to shake ‘ands with a picture!”

Hermione pulled the chair away so she could get a better look at him. He was a bit shorter than her, maybe in his mid-teens, dressed in country clothes; _Muggle_ clothes even. The style appeared to be from a while back, but Hermione had difficulty placing the era--a faded white shirt with dark braces holding up brown trousers. He was barefoot and his feet were filthy, as if he had been walking in mud.

He appeared to be a Muggle… but he was in a wizard picture. The perspective from this side was as if she was looking at the back of the picture in the sitting room. Hermione could see the scene beyond Doug’s fence and hedge, rolling hills and patchwork fields with a small church in the centre of it all.

“Hello, Doug,” Hermione said, realising suddenly that she was being rude by not returning his greeting. “I’m Hermione, Hermione Granger.”

“Well, yeah, I knew _that_!” Doug responded with a snort. “Just because I’m stuck in a picture in the arse end of nowhere don’t mean I dunno who Hermione Granger is! Yer famous, toots! But, you knew that already, didn’t’cha?” Doug lounged, indolently against the hedge, plucking a red apple from a basket, previously unnoticed by Hermione.

“So… who are you, Doug? I mean, did you live here?”

“Yup, gardener’s son originally,” he said, taking a huge bite of the apple’s crisp, red flesh. He continued speaking as he chewed, his voice muffled. “Long time ago now, mind. Getting’ on fer hunnerd odd years, I reckon. My family inherited the cottage when Ol’ Lady Ross popped off, God bless ‘er!” he added, tugging his hair respectfully. “Dad was made up. It gave him and me brothers a proper home to live in, which was nice. ‘Specially after we ‘ad taken care of it for so long anyway.”

“So…” Hermione began, and then hesitated. She was conscious that, if she was wrong, she might offend Doug with her next question, but what he was saying seemed to indicate something very strange. “Are you a wizard, Doug? Because… well, because you dress like a Muggle, and I’ve never seen an active portrait like yours with someone your age in it.”

“Nah, I’m not a wizard. I’m a Muggle, as you Wizardin’ people call us. Well, I _was_ , if you get me? But when I died, the old dear arranged for me to have me own picture. Thought of me as the son she’d never had. Well… she had a son, but he wasn’t much for being mothered, which I didn’t have a problem with, having lost me mum when I was three. She was very upset, me dying before her an’ everything, but that’s what times were like, back then. Pretty much everyone ‘ad it rough.”

Hermione was both surprised and intrigued. She turned the seat so she could sit and talk to Doug properly. He was more than happy to talk, and regaled her with tales of England in the 1920s and 30s and the strange acceptance two Muggles had found amongst the Wizarding community that used to be here. During his stories, Hermione took her bag upstairs and found the master bedroom. Doug followed her through the house, wandering through the various pictures, chatting away. He waited outside the room as, later on in the evening, she went back and got changed into her nightclothes.

Doug said that, even in such a stiff necked village as the one that used to be here, they had been accepted and welcomed. Though, Doug conceded, much of it was down to who their benefactor had been. She had been a force of nature, especially when angered. He spoke of her several times, always with great fondness.

“Who was she?” Hermione asked. She was once more curled up in the large armchair, a heavy blanket tucked around her legs and a cup of cocoa in her hands. Doug sprawled on the moonlight drenched grass, in front of his hedge, chewing on a length of grass. “I mean,” Hermione continued, “was she a famous witch? I don’t recall reading about a Lady Ross.”

“You won’t ‘ave ‘eard of ‘er, I’m thinkin’. She wasn’t famous ‘erself,” he said, “but you’ll _definitely_ know ‘er great granddaughter. The old dear’s name was Minerva Ross, God rest ‘er soul.” He unconsciously tugged at his forelock again.

Hermione was silent for a moment, her thoughts racing. “She was Professor McGonagall’s great grandmother, want she?” she asked.

“Wow,” said Doug, sitting up and staring at her. “You _are_ good!”

Hermione flushed with pleasure. “Well, I, unlike some of my former classmates, listened when my professors spoke.”

“That you certainly seem to do,” Doug said with a grin. “You’re absolutely right, of course. Ol’ Lady Ross, bless ’er, used to live ‘ere ‘fore the turn of the century. She ‘ad a boy, who married a young, local witch. _They_ ‘ad a kid, during the Great War. ‘er name was…”

“Isobel!” Hermione said, unable to stop herself.

“Exactly. And…” Doug paused, looking over at her, one eyebrow raised as if inviting her to carry on.

“And, when she grew up, she fell in love with Robert McGonagall, who was a Muggle and, later, a minister.” Hermione sat forward, her voice adopting a slightly bossy, lecturing tone. Doug grinned to himself, but Hermione didn’t notice, as she continued. “Isobel kept the relationship hidden from her family, because she knew her parents wouldn’t approve. When Isobel’s family eventually _did_ find out, they refused to allow the young couple to marry. The love birds eventually eloped, much to the annoyance of both families, and… um…” Hermione paused, trying to remember the little that Professor McGonagall had told her about her family.

Doug picked up the tale again. “Both sets of parents were right furious, for different reasons though, probably. Ol’ Lady Ross, God rest ‘er soul, tol’ young Isobel’s parents to cut ‘er off. So they did! You didn’t mess with Minerva, let me tell ya.”

“So they never saw her again? Didn’t the family try to reconcile?”

“I think Minerva thought ‘bout it a fair bit. But she never got chance before she died. We often chatted, whilst me Dad was working outside, an’ she tol’ me ‘bout ‘er granddaughter a few times. Me, being me, I questioned ‘er on why she didn’t just try an’ find ‘er. She always clammed up a little after that, tol’ me to get on with me work.” Doug paused, a sad smile ghosting across his face; Hermione stayed quiet, giving him a moment in his recollections. “I think that was why she accepted me, me Dad and me brothers,” he continued, “as if it was some kinda reconciliation. She ‘ad never really accepted other Muggles, not after Isobel and Robert ran off. She had always blamed Robert for their disloyalty, as she saw it, but I could tell that she really wanted them both to come home.”

“You’re very insightful, for a young lad,” Hermione said, “Most boys your age wouldn’t pick up on that sort of thing.”

Doug laughed loudly and pounded his thighs in delight. “I’m gettin’ on towards a hunnerd years old, love!”

“Yes, but you know what I mean! When you were a young boy, living here,” she said, slightly exasperated.

“I know, I know, I’m just kidding ya, Hermione.” Doug paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. “I dunno why, really. I think I just got attuned to things bein’ ‘idden ‘round ‘ere, what with the ol’ secrets thing you magical people ‘ave. So I learnt to be more observant, an’ could see things that people missed… pretty obvious things really. It was stuff people thought, or tried to ‘ide from each other. Like Ol’ Lady Ross, God keep her, secretly regrettin’ losin’ her granddaughter.”

The conversation trailed off, as a sense of sadness draped over them both. They sat that way for a while, until Doug sat up and looked Hermione in the eye. “So!” he said jovially, trying to dispel the feeling of sadness. “I’ve spent the last few hours, monopolisin’ the conversation an’ talking ’bout meself. ‘ow about you talk ‘bout you?”

Hermione smiled and said, “Okay, what do you want to know?”

They chatted for some time, as the candles burned lower and the night deepened. Hermione told Doug the true account of the Wizarding War, dispelling many of the rumours he had heard and setting him straight on a few things.

“No, never!” she declared at one point, almost offended at Doug’s question.

“Really? I’d ‘eard that you an’ he… well, were kinda…

“Oh, Doug! No! That would never have worked and he was such a-a-a _ferret_ back then… just, no!” Hermione shuddered as Doug laughed.

“Everyone ‘ere seemed to think you were,” Doug said, gesturing at the surrounding pictures, most of whom were asleep now.

“Well, we never did. And _that’s_ the truth!”

It was some time later, with Doug caught up on the truth of several other such rumours, that Hermione subsided. Doug sat forward and whistled softly. “Well, that is one heck of a tale, and no mistake. It’s amazin’ to think that I’m sat in the presence of celebrity!”

“I’m hardly a celebrity, Doug,” said Hermione, “I’m just someone who survived a terrible time in our world’s history.”

“Alright, so why are you ‘ere?”

“Pardon?” Hermione sat up with a frown.

“‘ere. In the countryside. Away from all yer friends?” Doug tilted his head to one side. “You’re Hermione Granger, ‘eroine of the war, an’ whatnot. Why aren’t you spendin’ it with your adorin’ public?”

Hermione felt a sudden flush heat her face, then noticed Doug’s raised eyebrows and struggled to drop her glare. “Sorry, Doug, I’m not angry at you. I was supposed to be spending time with friends but… I heard some of them talking, and the things they said… Oh, it was horrible, Doug! I just had to get out of there. They made me so angry! Especially…” She gave a wordless growl and set her cup down a little harder than necessary on the table.

Doug shuffled closer to the front of his picture and smiled consolingly. “Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

With a sigh, Hermione settled back in her chair and tucked the blanket around her legs again. “It was Fred and George Weasley, mainly! I was bringing the tea into the lounge, when I overheard them talking to Sirius Black…”

“Not notorious, mass-murderer, Sirius Black!?” Doug exclaimed, sitting up. When Hermione stared at him in surprise, he merely waved his hand apologetically. “Sorry, I’m kiddin’, I know the story really. The other paintin’s ‘ere talk… an’ talk… an’ talk an’… well, you get the picture, no pun intended. Go on.”

“Okay," she continued with a brief smile, "so Fred and George were talking to Sirius about him being alone… romantically.” Hermione felt her cheeks burn a little as she said this. She was still angry about the whole conversation. Doug merely watched her, a thoughtful look on his face. “They said that he was getting old and needed to find himself a…" She cleared her throat. "A 'young bit of tail to warm his old bones'. Then they did that… _nudging_ thing that men do when they’re being suggestive. It was so childish!”

“Okay, a little bit off. Can ‘magine that being annoying for a young lady to ‘ear. Just young men bein’ dumb and disrespectful, I guess,” Doug said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, but then Sirius said he didn’t need anyone for that sort of thing, and Fred said that he should ask…” She paused and cleared her throat again, a sudden tickle disrupting her speech. “He said that he should ask me! I mean, really!”

Doug hid a smile behind his hand, frowning and nodding sympathetically. “And Sirius made suggestive comments ‘bout you?”

“No, of course not!” she said. Her voice softened slightly. “Of course he didn’t. He said that I was a nice girl and shouldn’t be spoken of like that.”

“True ‘nuff.”

“Thank you, but they kept talking about it, and then Harry came in… you know Harr… of course you do! Harry came in and joined in!” She was incredulous and Doug raised his eyebrows, seemingly in shared surprise. There was a twinkle in his eyes that Hermione, focused as she was on her tale, missed.

“So Harry says that Sirius could do worse, and even went as far as to suggest that I would be receptive to his advances. I mean… what gave him _that_ idea?”

She was filled with righteous indignation again, as Doug gave a bark of laughter. “Sorry, tickle in me throat. So, you ‘adn’t given any indication that you liked Sirius at all?”

“Of course not. He’s nice and everything,” she said with another flush, “but he’s old enough to be my father, he’s Harry’s Godfather and… just… not right for me.”

“Okay, so what did Sirius say to Harry?”

“I can’t really remember, exactly. I was too angry with the lot of them. It was something about me being too young and inexperienced to handle a Marauder like him. They were all laughing and nudging each other, like it was the world's greatest joke. I tell you, it’s a good job I didn’t punch him on the nose!”

“So, what ‘appened then?” Doug’s eyes were dancing with repressed mirth as he watched Hermione flush with embarrassment again. She was going to set the books on fire with her face if she wasn't careful. This was too much! He hadn’t had this much fun in _such_ a long time.

“I stormed into the lounge, put their cups of tea on the table and told them I was going away for Christmas. I might also have put a small curse on their drinks. I’m not proud of it, but they deserved it, talking about me like I was some kind of loose woman!”

“I think Ol’ Lady Ross, God rest ‘er soul, woulda knocked their ‘eads together. Don’t worry ‘bout Sirius an’ the others. You obviously don’t care for him, not in _that_ way at least.” Doug smiled sympathetically. “Truth is, Hermione, men--when they get together like that--can’t help but rib at each other ‘bout women. It's not right, and it's an old stupidity common to men. They just ‘ad the misfortune of doing it where you could ‘ear them. Don’t think ‘bout it an’ just enjoy the break. There are some great shops in the village nearby, an’ tomorrow we can decorate this place together. What d’ya say?”

Hermione smiled and stood. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand as a wave of tiredness washed over her. “I think I’m going to go to bed now, Doug. Thank you for the talk. I feel a lot better now.”

Doug smiled and bade her goodnight as she left. Turning around, he leant over his gate, watching and listening until she had climbed the stairs. Once it was quiet, he allowed himself a smile and a laugh. “Oh dear, oh dear. Poor love. Talk ‘bout denial!”

Silence settled over the cottage as the night deepened. Apart from the occasional creaks of the cottage’s timbers settling and the gentle snores of the various pictures, the cottage was quiet. In the sitting room, Doug’s picture stood empty, its occupant elsewhere.

As Hermione slept, strange dreams came to her; dreams in which old, stern looking witches, walked through her mind, as Sirius Black leant against the leg of a large elephant, decorated to look like the wall behind it. The elephant failed to blend in. It seemed obvious to everyone, but they all ignored it anyway.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione guided the thick and bushy strand of vibrant, green and white tinsel towards the top of the front door, using gentle movements of her wand. An ancient record player was blaring out old Christmas tunes and Hermione felt herself swaying in time, as Elton John sang ‘Step into Christmas’.

“Just put it on, gramps! Don’t make me come over there!”

Hermione shook her head with a wry smile. Doug was berating one of the wizard pictures again.

She had woken this morning, disorientated and confused. Then her anger returned, as she remembered where she was, and why. The anger simmered under the surface as she got dressed and ready for the day. She hadn’t been able to work out why she was so angry. She had never been offended when the men talked about women before; even when she heard them, occasionally, speculate about her, and who she would end up with. She took it all with good grace and even laughed, on occasion, at their comments.

So why had this time offended her so much?

If it hadn’t been for Doug, she thought that she might have been in a foul mood all day. Just as she was brushing her hair as if it had insulted her, Doug’s voice drifted up the stairs, singing Jingle Bells, off-key, with his own words.

“…Owners squeezed the man! Wages cut, more work! Transport systems jammed, when workers din’t turn up! Tee You Cee said no, we will not lie down! MPs scared of anarchy, when all tools hit the ground, oh! Jingle bells, Baldwin smells, workers went on strike! Decreased pay and increase time, but they put up a fight-oh! Jingle bells, Baldwin smells, he’ll only last six years! Cooke said “No, we will not go!” but the general strike ended after nine days, and everyone went back to work, except the miners who stayed off work for another few months!”

Doug hopped into a landscape on Hermione’s wall, a sprig of holly tucked in his hair and a huge grin on his face. “Now, I know what yer thinkin’. The last verse needs some work, doesn’t it? I know, I know, but it’s really tough to get an amusin’, satirical commentary on the late nineteen twenties’ miner’s strike into such a short song!”

There was no way Hermione could stay in a bad mood. Doug’s appearance and his gentle urgings to “cheer up, ya moody ol’ bat!” lifted her spirits immensely. They had breakfast together in the study, chatting about the local town and the decorations Hermione wanted to buy for the cottage. Doug hinted that he would have a surprise ready for her when she got back and, with an enigmatic smile, left his painting in a rush.

Hermione made the twenty minute walk to the village in a bit of a funk. Without Doug’s cheerful influence, she felt some of her anger returning, and she spent the first hour wandering around the various shops with a sour look on her face. Soon she began to lighten up as she saw several things that made her smile; beautiful decorations that she wanted to get for Molly, a lovely dress that would suit Ginny perfectly, and some Muggle magic tricks that Arthur would love. She began to finally enjoy the novel experience of interacting with Muggles again, and soon she was smiling and laughing freely with other shoppers. After a few hours she had bought enough decorations to ensure that Christmas would be well represented at the cottage. Her beaded bag allowed her to carry all of her various bags and boxes with ease but she was careful to ensure that no-one saw her putting anything in it. She even bought presents for all her friends, even though she still felt that  _ some _ of them didn’t deserve any.

Once back at the cottage, Doug revealed his surprise. Whilst Hermione had been in town he had gone off and found decorations: hats, banners and flags, as well as crockery and other gaudy trinkets. He had gleefully begun distributing these amongst the paintings, berating any of the occupants who didn’t show enough enthusiasm to suit him. A lot of the pictures in the cottage now featured a Christmas hat, tinsel or some other festive decoration. The young lad had done his best to convince all of the occupants to dress up for the season too. Most had seemed willing to oblige but there had been a few that, initially, had refused to join in the spirit. 

Doug watched in amazement as Hermione pulled box after box of baubles, lights, and other decorations out of her bag.

“Now  _ that _ is somethin’ special!” he muttered.

Whilst Hermione set about assembling the tree and spreading the various decorations around the rooms, Doug had started tackling the more reluctant paintings. Doug’s efforts were cheering Hermione up once more, and soon she was laughing as he wrestled one old wizard into a red and green hat with ‘Merry Christmas’ stitched across the front.

By the time night had fallen the cottage was almost completed. The beautiful Christmas tree, dressed in green and gold, with soft white light glowing in its branches, stood in the corner next to the front door. Every picture had tinsel draped over it, and delicate strands of fairy lights criss-crossed the ceiling. It was a combination of magical and Muggle decorations that Hermione felt truly emphasised this cottage’s charm, and resonated with her.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse, the cold finally breaking and allowing the warmer, wetter air to invade Hermione’s Christmas card. The rain battered against the windows, and the wind howled against the sturdy walls of the cottage. It was a terrible night, and she was pleased that she was snug and safe in her little wonderland.

Settling another strand of tinsel over the door, Hermione began to levitate several baubles towards her from the box at her feet. Gently she wove the strands of the tinsel into the hooks on each bauble, creating a beautiful display above the door.

“It’s missin’ somethin’,” called Doug, pointing at the tree. “Dunno what, but I’m sure there’s somethin’ missin’.”

Hermione turned to look at him for a moment, then studied the tree. She smiled brightly. “I know just the thing,” she declared, twirling her wand through her fingers. Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she began to move her wand in slow, gentle sweeps, drawing in the air. A delicate shape shimmered in the air, an open weave of gold wire began to form a star. Delicate lights twined around the wires to give it an extra sparkle all of its own.

At that moment the front door shivered under the tremendous impact of someone, or something crashing against the door, repeatedly. The shock sent Hermione staggering backwards, her legs striking the sofa back and tipping her over with a startled screech. The star vanished in an explosion of light and Hermione’s wand began to shoot red, gold, and green sparks. Doug and the other portraits dived for cover within their pictures, as the sparks erupted wildly, gaudy decorations appearing with each impact. Soon every part of the sitting area was dripping with tinsel, baubles, and ribbons of many colours and shades. Hermione was lying on the floor at the foot of the sofa, half covered with decorations. Her wand continued to spark fitfully for a moment as she struggled free and looked at the mess.

The front door was forced open and the room was filled with a swirling gale, picking up the loose decorations and tossing them around. Hermione’s glare settled where the cause of this mess stood, dripping onto the rug, shaking out his coat and brushing rain from his long, black hair.

“Eugh! That weather is  _ awful _ !” he muttered. “Where did that storm come from? I know Scotland’s got a reputation for bad weather, but this just takes the piss!”

“Sirius?” she shouted, standing in a rush, her wand sweeping across to cast the various decorations away from her. Her magic caught the door and slammed it closed. “What are  _ you _ doing here?”

Sirius held his hands out, warily watching Hermione’s wand as it pointed in his direction. “I was… concerned, Hermione. I’m sorry to arrive without warning like this, but… you left so suddenly-”

“And I made it clear that I wanted to be on my own! I’m fine. Go home, Sirius!” Hermione was furious at his sudden intrusion into her quiet Christmas scene. There was an ache in her chest whenever she looked at him that she put down to anger.

“You’re not going to send me out into that storm again are you, Hermione? Have a heart, love, it’s freezing out there!” His smile broadened, the smile that had been the downfall of many a witch in his youth. “You wouldn’t want me to catch my death, would you?”

“Don’t push your luck, Sirius!” Hermione hissed as she turned and stormed out of the room. “How did you even find me?” She almost ran through the dining area and into the kitchen, half blinded by tears of frustration and partially breathless from the pain in her chest. Her heart pounded with anger and confusion, and some other emotion that she couldn’t identify. Just seeing Sirius stood in the doorway, his hair swept around by the wind, his skin glistening with the rain… Why did she feel this angry, and what  _ was _ that other feeling?

She heard Sirius coming after her, calling her name, and her heart skipped. Striding into the study with a sweep of her wand, she slammed the door behind her and locked it, dropping into the armchair in front of Doug’s picture. The young boy was sitting with his back against the hedge, an oversized Christmas hat stuck over his eyes. His hedge was covered in strands of tinsel and various baubles were stuck in it.

“Look what you did, Hermione!” he moaned. “Ya Christmassed me!”

“Doug, this is not a time to be silly!” she snapped. Doug lifted the edge of the hat from his eyes and looked out at her, a half smile on his face. “I mean, what is Sirius  _ doing _ here?” she continued. “I told them all I wanted to be left alone, that I was going away and wouldn’t be back till after Christmas.” Her voice rose, becoming more plaintive. “Why is he here? How did he even  _ find _ me?” 

“Well,” said Doug, pulling the hat from his head, “isn’t it obvious?”

Hermione looked at him incredulously. “No! Why would it be obvious?”

Doug stared at her for a moment, then shook his head in amazement. “You’d think eighty odd years an’ more of advancement would mean this sorta thing would be easier,” he muttered under his breath as he hauled himself to his feet.

“Hermione!” called Sirius, on the other side of the study door. “Please, just talk to me.”

“Go away, Sirius!” Hermione rounded on the door, pointing her wand at it. “I don’t want to talk to you, any of you. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear at Grimmauld Place!”

“Look, I know what you heard sounded bad. I’m sorry, truly, I am. If I had known you were listening…”

“If you had  _ known _ ?” Hermione shrieked. In a flash she had crossed the room, wrenched the door open and stalked out, forcing Sirius to back up rapidly as she jabbed her wand at his chest.

Despite her anger she found herself noticing that he had taken off his coat. His dark trousers were wet around the knees, his light shirt stuck to his chest in places. His beard was slightly damp and his hair wild and windswept. She felt her knees weaken slightly as his dark eyes met hers, flashing with some emotion at the sight of her. A strange smile played at the corners of his mouth as he glanced, briefly, above her head. The smile dropped immediately as her wand snapped to his face.

“If. You. Had. KNOWN!? Why were you talking about me  _ at all _ ? What  _ right  _ do you have to talk about me like some kind of-of  _ thing _ to be packaged off? Why do you think you have the right to say whether you, or anyone else, are right for me or not? You don’t know how I feel! You don’t know and yet you talk about me like-like-like some kind of hussy... Just a  _ slut _ looking for someone to shag!?”

“Now  _ that’s _ not fair!” Sirius declared, his eyes angry now as he leant forward, forcing Hermione to move her wand slightly to avoid jabbing him with it. “We  _ never _ talked like that. The boys thought there was more to our relationship than… than there is… and I was setting them straight.”

“Why are you here?” she hissed, feeling a strange twinge of disappointment at his words. “What part of ‘I don’t want to see anyone’ was unclear to you?”

“We were all worried about you, Hermione. Harry and the twins wanted to come too, but they’re still an interesting shade of purple,” Sirius said with a grin. “Must have been something they ate… or drank? Maybe something the twins made, perhaps.”

Hermione had the decency to blush slightly at this, but then squared her shoulders. “I’m sure that, whatever it was, they thoroughly deserved it,” she said. “You seem to look good… I mean, you escaped whatever it was.” Her skin flushed heavily at his smile. His eyes seemed to be looking inside her, capturing her full attention and her thoughts were becoming scattered, her anger difficult to hold onto.

“I wasn’t thirsty at the time, Hermione,” he said, his voice lingering on her name in a way that sent shivers chasing up and down her spine. “I found myself more concerned with what had upset you, what you had heard.” His hand gently, but firmly, pushed her wand aside, and he took a small step towards her.

The strange chills that Hermione had been feeling intensified with the touch of his hand and, confused over her charged emotions, she took a step back. When Sirius kept walking towards her, Hermione continued to back up and soon felt her back bump against the door frame of the study.

“I needed to make sure you were okay and decided to come alone. I thought it would give us a chance to talk, without the others interfering,” he said, his smile rapidly making Hermione’s insides melt. “I wanted to make you understand.”

Within her head a line of thought circled: “He’s Harry’s Godfather, we’re just friends, he’s old enough to be my father, he’s not my type, he’s too old for me, he thinks of me as a daughter, he’s Harry’s Godfather…” Over and over again the thought went round and she began to feel some semblance of her original anger returning. She throttled the stray thought that said that wasn’t how a man usually smiles at someone he saw as a daughter...

“Sirius,” she began, her voice catching slightly on his name, “go home. I’m fine. You can see that I’m fine, and you can tell the others that I want to be alone.” She forced her voice to harden, an edge creeping into it. “I understand perfectly well how everyone involved feels, and you can also tell the others that, if any of them have any brilliant ideas about my eligibility as a girlfriend, they can keep them to themselves! That includes  _ you _ !”

She shoved him in the chest, pushing him away from her. Spinning around, she stalked back into the study and slammed the door shut and twisting the lock. Something leafy fell onto her shoulder, and she gave an involuntary scream as the plant flapped around her face before falling to the floor.

“Hermione, are you okay?” called Sirius, concern evident in his tone.

“I’m fine!” she yelled back, her anger directed at herself for being scared of a plant. Crouching down she picked up the large sprig of mistletoe that had fallen on the floor. “Where did this come from?” she muttered under her breath. She hadn’t bought any mistletoe in town.

Sirius continued to talk on the other side of the door, trying to convince her to come out but Hermione was determined not to listen.

Doug stood, his arms folded across his chest, leaning against his frame. “So?” he drawled. “Why are you here?” His eyebrows lifted in question, a grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

“Why this question again, Doug? I thought we had established that I wanted to be alone. I am angry at everyone and Sirius being here is making it worse.”

“I meant, why are you in here, keeping ‘im out there? And why is it worse with ‘im ‘ere?,” said Doug gesturing towards the door. “I don’t know ‘bout you, but I can ‘ear a man on the other side of that door, trying to ask forgiveness from a woman ‘e thinks ‘ighly of.”

“But he doesn’t think… Not in the same way that I... oh…” She faltered, her thoughts scattering away from the realisation that had crystalised in her mind.

“Aha!” Doug cried, pointing at her in triumph, a huge smile on his face. “There it is! That’s the reason ain’t it? I bloody knew it! You think ‘e don’t like you the way you like ‘im, and you were angry when ‘e said  _ exactly _ that to the lads, right?”

“N-n-no!” Hermione stammered, flustering as all of her defences were pulled down in Doug’s flash of logic. “That’s not true at all!” she lied.

“Why d’you get flustered when you look at ‘im?”

“I… I don’t…”

“Why is it that you blush whenever you say ‘is name?”

“That’s not… I was angry…” She could feel her heart pounding as Doug continued to pull at the remains of her walls.

“Think about it! What do you  _ really _ feel for this man?”

All those brief meetings in the corridors of Grimmauld Place; moments where they met in doorways or jokes told when they were alone. All those times that she thought she was staring off into space, thinking; she had been looking at Sirius. He was too old for her, though! He was Harry’s Godfather, and it could never work out for them, even if they could get past the age difference.

“Okay, let me stop yer wheels turnin’ a moment,” said Doug, and his voice climbed an octave, mimicking Hermione’s bossy tone almost perfectly, “Oh, ‘e’s too old for me! He’s Harry’s Godfather, and it would never work out. What would the neighbours say, blah blah blah, ooo, the price of cheese!’”

“Now what has cheese got to do with any of that!?” she muttered, her thoughts skittering wildly as Sirius began to bang on the door.

“Exactly my point! None of it means a thing, you dozy woman!” Doug yelled, ignoring her angry glare. “All that matters is you two and ‘ow you feel!”

She needed to get out, she felt trapped. She couldn’t face the fact that Sirius was here, calling to her from the doorway, but that he didn’t want her. Not the way she needed him to want her.

“He doesn’t love me!” Hermione almost wailed, the frustration too much for her. 

Doug’s jaw dropped in amazement and he began banging his head against the frame. “Why does she think he’s here?” he muttered in time with each impact. There was a click and the frame opened silently outwards, secret hinges on the side.

Her heart gave a sudden lurch as Sirius shouted, “Merlin’s Beard, I’m trying to talk to you through a damn door and it’s ridiculous!  _ Alohomora! _ ”

The door to the study was pushed open and Hermione gave a small scream. She saw a way out, through Doug’s painting; a way into the sitting area, and to the front door. In a flash, she sprang from the chair, her wand tumbling from her hand as she ran. She dragged Doug’s painting aside, sending the young lad tumbling, and dashed out of the study. In moments she had crossed the room and plunged out into the darkness and the pouring rain beyond.

The wind battered her and tried to drag her off of her feet; the freezing rain soaked her instantly, stinging her skin. Thunder shattered the sky above as lightning dazzled her. It was a terrifying storm, but she could only run, blinded by the rain and her tears as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. The tree lined path had become little more than a swamp of sucking mud and water; the surface rippled and splashed from the pelting rain. She hadn’t gone far before a hidden rock caught her foot, sending her stumbling and falling into a muddy puddle.

A bolt of lightning lit the sky above her, the thunder deafening and instant. It struck the tree above her, shearing a branch from the trunk and sending it tumbling to earth. She scrabbled in her pocket for her wand, trying to haul herself away from danger. Unable to find purchase in the deep mud, she collapsed on her back, fear paralysing her as the huge tree limb headed straight for her.

A dark shape covered her body and smothered her sight. A glittering barrier formed above her, stinging her eyes with its brightness, and the branch struck it, exploding into harmless splinters.

Over the sound of the rushing wind, she could hear rapid, fearful breathing. Not all of it was hers. Strong arms lifted her from the puddle, and though she protested it was weak, as her legs didn’t feel capable of holding her up just now. In the flashes of lightning she could see his hair, plastered to his face from the swirling rain. His dark eyes were fixed on their destination, arms wrapped around her protectively.

Sirius shouldered open the door and stepped into the warm cottage, kicking the door closed behind him. He lowered her to the sofa, using his wand to dry her clothes as he muttered under his breath. Hermione could only catch a few words as she was focussed on his face and the concern in his eyes.

“Is she alright?” came Doug’s voice. “Sirius! Is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine!” Sirius called over his shoulder. Looking back at Hermione he lifted her head and looked into her eyes. “Hermione. Hermione, speak to me.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she whispered.

The relief in Sirius’ face was almost palpable, his smile tinged with the remnants of his fear. “Good,” he said, then his smile dropped, his face becoming stern and angry, “because that was the most ridiculous, foolhardy thing I’ve seen in a long time!”

“Wha…?”

“Running out into the storm like that. You knew what the weather was like, but you go out there with no coat, no wand? Without your wand you can’t defend yourself. You nearly got yourself killed!”

Hermione flushed heavily, embarrassment prickle its way across her skin until it felt like it was burning. She had panicked and nearly got herself killed, reacting like a scared girl, rather than a trained and intelligent witch.

“I nearly lost you, you stupid woman!” Sirius snarled.

Hermione could only look up at him in confusion. Then he was kissing her, and it made her heart flip to feel his lips against hers. The kiss was hard, fierce, with an edge to it from Sirius’ anger.

He pulled away, leaving her breathing heavily on the sofa. “When I saw that branch, I didn’t think I was going to make it in time. I thought I’d missed my chance to tell you... I nearly lost you.”

“Lost me?” Hermione was thoroughly dazed and hopeful, her head spinning.

“I love you, Hermione,” Sirius whispered, “madly and insanely. You are the most wonderful woman I know. I’ve felt like this for a long time, but never thought I was good enough for you. I’m an old man, your best friend’s Godfather…”

Hermione lifted a hand and placed it on Sirius’ chest. “Sirius, you told the twins that I wasn’t right for you, that I couldn’t handle you… Why would you say that if you felt… like this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said with a smile, unconsciously echoing Doug. “I didn’t think I could be with you, that no one would approve. I was nervous when the twins mentioned it, and then  _ Harry  _ too? I tried to downplay it. Panicked a little, if I’m honest. Unfortunately, you heard me...”

“The great Marauder, worried about what others thought of him?” Hermione whispered with a wry smile, her stomach fluttering. “Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you, or shove you off a bridge for being such a pain in the arse.”

“Can I pick? I’d really rather prefer the first option.”

She gave a huff of laughter at that, rolling her eyes. Her hand lifted and toyed, unconsciously, with Sirius’ hair, wrapping it around her fingers.

“Look,” he continued, “I never thought I would find someone who I would feel this way about. Even after all that time in Azkaban, I’m a sensitive soul really. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” she said, biting her lip and looking up at him, “if you kiss me right this second.”

Sirius’ lips meeting hers again was the fulfilment of everything her heart had been hoping for. If they had been in a cartoon, sparks and fireworks would have been firing in all directions. She felt her heart constrict and desire pool within her as Sirius’ arms encircled her. She clung to him, deepening the kiss, feeling him lift her from the sofa.

At the unspoken question in his eyes she smiled and nodded. With a triumphant grin Sirius carried her towards the stairs, but stopped at the doorway to the dining room. Confused, Hermione looked around and quickly saw what had stopped Sirius.

A large sprig of mistletoe, glittering and sparkling with magic, was rapidly growing from the top of the door frame. Being a traditional girl, and not one to miss an opportunity, Hermione pulled Sirius’ mouth to hers and kissed him. When they parted, she nodded up at the mistletoe. “I suppose I have you to thank for that? That’s the second door I’ve gone through that has sprouted mistletoe.”

“And why is that my fault, pray tell?” he said, his deep voice rumbling through her chest.

“Because, when you arrived, you interrupted my decoration spell. It must have backfired slightly. I noticed it earlier, in the study.”

“That tree still needs something,” called Doug. “Just sayin’… You know, if you wanna finish it off properly before you bugger off?”

Hermione laughed and nodded to Sirius. Putting her down, the Marauder handed her wand over and drew his own. Together they conjured a beautiful star, golden and shining, twinkling with fairy lights. It settled gently on the top of the tree.

“That’s much better,” Doug said as he looked at the tree. The young lad leant back against his fence, looking out at the Christmas decorations that covered every area of the room. Most of it was still tasteful, but the explosion of decorations had covered a lot of the furniture in a profusion of gaudy tinsel. “Well, I ain’t cleanin’ this lot up, that’s for sure.” He looked over towards the dining room, noticing that the pair had disappeared, and shook his head. “Didn’t even say g’night,” he muttered, then grinned and stuck a long piece of grass in his mouth and chewed contentedly. “I knew telling ol’ McGonagall would be a good idea. Thought she’d have Ol’ Lady Ross’ temper, God love ‘er. Bet she dragged ol’ Sirius out by ‘is ear, gave him the password and sent ‘im on ‘is way…”

“Will you be quiet, young man!” A disgruntled looking wizard, with a Christmas hat on, was glaring at him from another painting. “Some of us were asleep!”

Doug laughed out loud and made pacifying gestures. Hopping over his fence, he turned briefly to look at the tree. “Now  _ that _ is a Christmas tree. Started with a love of the season, and finished with a love from the heart.”

“That’s not being quiet!”

Shaking his head, Doug settled down behind his hedge and plucked a large mince pie from his basket. “I love Christmas!” he said, taking a huge bite.

**Author's Note:**

> Bingo Square: O1 - “Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you, or shove you off a bridge.” “Can I pick?”
> 
> Originally written for Laurielove using two prompts: 
> 
> 1) Several years after the war Hermione finds herself facing the prospect of a lonely Christmas. She decides to rent a cottage in the countryside to cheer herself up, but who should come knocking on the cottage door one cold night?
> 
> 2) Hermione's decoration charm backfires and she finds that whenever she tries to cast it mistletoe keeps appearing over doorways she's about to pass through. And, luckily for the man/men who bump into her at those times, her sense of tradition forces her to do what has to be done. (I liked this one so much that I had to try and use it… even just a little bit)


End file.
